


No Such Thing As Evil Love

by rat_in_the_pool



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-14 20:59:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15397329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rat_in_the_pool/pseuds/rat_in_the_pool
Summary: Killian’s a witch. Which (ha!) means his life is complicated enough without his ex rolling back into town. Especially since his ex is a demon.Emma figures Killian can never forgive her for their disastrous relationship. But with her former boss, the literal Source of All Evil, out to destroy him and his brother, she’s not about to stand by and let it happen when she can help.Not when the man she loves is in danger.A Charmed AU (it's on Netflix, kids) for the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer.





	No Such Thing As Evil Love

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am horrendously late for my drop date. A huge, huge thanks to [CSSNS](https://cssns.tumblr.com/) for still letting me post as part of their event. And thank you for organizing it too, you guys. This summer has really just been kicking me in the ass, and if it weren’t for this event I probably wouldn’t be writing at all. But with everything going on, it feels so satisfying to still have created something, as late and wonky as it turned out to be.
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you to [huffleporg](http://huffleporg.tumblr.com/) for zher [kick ass edit](http://huffleporg.tumblr.com/post/176139068266/cover-art-for-no-such-thing-as-evil-love-link-to) (go reblog it!!) and zher endless patience with my procrastination bs. I do not deserve zher.
> 
> (Also, [saffronlesbian](http://saffronlesbian.tumblr.com/) doesn’t go here but she was kind enough to beta for me anyway, so thank you hon!)

Killian’s demonic ex was on his television.

He had been enjoying a quiet night for once. No innocents to save, no drama with his brother’s forbidden love life.

There she stood, in the graveyard set of his favorite campy, throwback horror flick. It was too reminiscent of the last time he’d seen her, surrounded by fog and headstones. Except now, instead of the gray blazer and white button-down she’d sported as a DA, she was in head-to-toe black. Literally straight from Hell.

“Killian,” she greeted him, her voice low and urgent. Even through the speakers - even with everything she’d done - that voice sent a thrill through his body.

“Emma,” he responded. “What are you doing in my television?”

There was a pause where she blinked at him. “I, uh, learned it from the Demon of Illusion. Remember him?”

“Yes, I remember killing him,” Killian said. “But I meant, _why_ . Why are you interrupting my night in with _Kill it Before it Dies_ , Emma?”

There was a pause, and Killian could swear he saw some sort of tension leave her little, desaturated figure. Then she shrugged. “I like this movie.”

Somehow this put Killian even more on edge. Emma wasn’t one to beat around the bush. Lie with gusto, perhaps, but not chat.

“Do you?” he asked, playing along out of dread. “Or were you just pretending to like it when we saw it together because you knew -”

“About your massive crush on Billy Appleby,” she said, naming the film’s hero. “I always thought his girlfriend was hotter, if it’s honesty you want.”

“I want honesty about why the bloody hell you’re here.”

She seemed to steel herself for a moment, before she asked, “Are you okay?”

The question threw him. She was watching him with worry. He didn’t like it. When he’d imagined them meeting again - and he imagined it much more than he cared to admit - she was often smug and biting, or cool and indifferent. Just purely, black and white, evil. No hint that she felt anything for him at all. And he felt nothing for her right back.

“The Source is gunning for you,” she said. The Source of All Evil. Her former master that had charged her with seducing and destroying him, lest Killian forget.

“Yes, I know,” he said. “He must be gunning for you too.”

A cold smile stretched her lips. “Right. So if I’m hearing about his plots to kill you, it must mean he wants you bad.”

Killian felt a prickle of unease. “What have you heard?”

“Some lower level guys at the bodega near the cemetery were talking about warlocks or something? Knowledge-stealing warlocks?”

“Oh them.” Killian relaxed. “Aye, we’ve met. We dispatched them today, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Well, good. The demons at the bodega made it sound like it was a done deal or something.”

“It was. Except they were the ones who were finished.”

“I just...thought I would give you the heads up,” she said, somewhat lamely.

“Right,” Killian said. The awkwardness of the encounter was catching up with them. “Well, if that’s all...”

She let out a dry little snort at the dismissal before starting to turn away. She stopped with her back to him for a moment before turning back. “If you need anything…” she trailed off, looking pained.

“Excuse me?” Killian said, incredulous.

“I just…” she floundered again before pushing on, determinedly. “If you, your brother, whatever, if you need any help -”

“We don’t,” Killian snapped. “Not from you.”

He could see her guilt warring with her stubbornness, but finally her face shuttered, and her form dissolved into the soft, grey, static of the scenery, as if she’d never been there at all.

Killian let the movie play, lovely Billy Appleby and his plucky girlfriend hacking away at zombies in an Emma-free cemetery set, but he saw none of it. He sat there in his sweats, rubbing absently at the stump where his left arm ended, lost in memories of blonde hair and cautious green eyes.

It had never been easy, dating as a witch. Since that night a few years ago when Killian had sat in the attic reading his mother’s spellbook and found himself wishing that it wasn’t just some kitschy relic she’d found at a flea market and stowed away. Wishing that she’d left him a larger purpose than to wander the earth, a disappointment to his brother, to her memory.

The night he made a wish and it came true.

No, since then, it hadn’t been easy to carry on a grand romance when he was busy protecting innocent people from warlocks and demons and other things that go bump in the night.

But it hadn’t bothered him. He had his fun when he could and left the heartbreak to his brother. Liam promptly fell for the handy-woman who kept their mother’s unreasonably old house from from falling apart, just in time for her to turn out to be their supernatural caretaker sent by the heavens - where they kept a strict no fraternization policy, apparently.

As much as Killian had hated to see his brother unhappy, a small, spiteful part of himself had felt some satisfaction to not be the screw up of the family for once.

He shouldn’t have held his breath.

He remembered confessing this to Emma one night when she’d driven him home in her yellow bug (a ridiculous choice for a vehicle, in retrospect, but at the time he’d been enamored...at the time).

He hadn’t gotten her on a date yet, and he’d been stupidly over the moon to share space with her through the city traffic.

“I was a late bloomer,” he told her. Somehow, and to his delight, they’d landed on the topic of their romantic pasts.

“You?” she’d said, voice dripping with disbelief.

“Aye, me!” He lowered his chin to peer over at her cheekily. “All this takes time to perfect, you know.”

She’d laughed, surprising them both perhaps, that such a stupid line had worked. God, she had a lovely laugh.

It took her shooting him an expectant look for him to remember he’d been in the middle of a story. He’d been gazing at her like a dolt.

“Right. Well, I got to school and I was very happy to discover that suddenly people seemed to reciprocate my attraction to them. And I had a lot of good, harmless fun for a while.”

“Uh-oh.”

He hummed in response. “But then I went and fell for a woman who was married.”

She sucked in a breath.

“It gets better,” he said. “Her husband turned out to be one of my professors.”

She glanced at him, quickly, before she turned back to the road. But it was enough that he’d caught the surprise, that he’d caught the recognition. That he’d caught his breath, because the expression mirrored what he felt around her. She felt familiar to him.

“Shit,” she murmured, heartfelt and knowing.

“Aye,” he said, faintly. “So, naturally, he failed me. And there was a lot of dramatics and fights, and when they separated she broke it off with me too, saying she preferred to be on her own for a while, find herself. Which I can understand now, but as a wee, twenty-two year-old, I was very unreasonable about. So she left, and I dropped out.”

“You ran,” she said. Not passing judgement. Just with that same note of familiarity.

“Aye,” he confirmed, the memory of his bitter anger distant, dulled. “And now my brother is...in a similar situation. No one’s married or anything, but he could get in trouble if anyone found out he’s involved with this person. And…”

“And you’re enjoying not being the fuck up this time?” she guessed. Her smile was sad, but he found himself smiling in return.

“Something like that,” he said, and they sat for a moment in silence, as he wondered, a little nervously, at the _rightness_ of the moment. Of her company. Of her.

Blissfully oblivious to the fact that he was still the bigger fuck up.

That he was falling for a demon.

…

Emma shimmered back into the mausoleum, the cold, silent stone a shock after the black and white fuzz of Killian’s horror movie.

She sighed as she sat down, folding her legs under her. _Why the fuck did I do that?_ She’d spotted those lower level assholes on her usual twilight skulk to the grocery store. She’d doubled back to listen in on their conversation, just to make sure they weren’t there for her. One mention of the Charmed Ones and she was hightailing it to the manor, to see him. To see him alive, as if she could do anything if he wasn’t.

But he’d been there. A witch blessedly whole and living, and pissed. And as a bonus she got to issue him a completely useless warning.

Emma groaned, and gave into the impulse to sprawl out on the floor and wallow.

He’d looked good. Better. Well. Anything would look better to her than the expression of fury and betrayal he’d been wearing the last time they’d seen each other.

 _Shut up_. She’d relived that night enough. There wasn’t much else to do since she’d spent the last few months sleeping a couple dozen yards away from where it happened. His expression was burned in her mind.

She should have run when they’d tasked her with killing him.

She thought back to their first meeting. It hadn’t been hard to catch his attention. She’d been gearing up to send him a few suggestive, challenging looks. Maybe lace some innuendo into the conversation. But he’d done all the work for her, breaking into a wide, crooked grin immediately. Repeating her name with sinful relish when she told it to him, earning a pained look from his brother.

It was probably the most passive way she’d ever made first contact with her target.

Her masters hadn’t been as confident.

“This will be difficult for you, Emmaline,” said the cloaked son of a bitch she’d reported to.

“Why should it?” she’d said, thrown. “It’s not like I’ve never pulled a seduction on a mission before.”

“A seduction, not a romance.”

Emma squinted at him. “They’re...the same thing?”

“You may know how to bluntly proposition the right type of floozy to gain access or information. But this is an entirely different animal. Humans prefer to show vulnerability when they’re expecting vulnerability in return.”

Vulnerability. Emma shifted. Yeah, she could see how that was going to be a problem.

“Your hardness,” her master continued, “feeds your strength, your ferocity. But this situation calls for a certain skill in manipulation that I fear you lack. This is a dance, not a blitzkreig.”

She hated having to take their criticism. Almost as much as she hated when they were right. Faking vulnerability came about as easily as the real thing for Emma.

Ironically, it seemed like Killian was better suited for her job. She couldn’t help admiring him when he’d seek her out to probe her for information on obviously supernatural cases. His questioning was never that subtle, but his breezy flirting served as a pretty damn effective distraction. If she weren’t - as a demonic pawn sent to kill him - completely aware of what he was doing, she might even walk away from their little interviews totally clueless.

He was kind of a pro. And he was flashily beautiful. But that wasn’t what got to her.

She’d asked him out. She thought he’d appreciate having the tables turned, her pursuing him instead of the other way around.

Appreciation wasn’t quite his reaction, though. There was a flash of something in his eyes, an eager, earnest thrill. He hadn’t expected her to make a move, and he was excited that she had.

Vulnerability.

It had felt weird. It had felt weird that it felt like anything at all. Emma had a century of this work under her belt, and when she snagged a target, one thing she didn’t do was feel. And she certainly didn’t feel...dread?

Was it because she could sense, even then, how fucking endearing he was? How important he was going to become?

He was more dangerous than her masters knew, more than they could understand. More than she could foresee.

So they’d gone on that date. And as planned, they’d hit it off. Even though Killian had to run off to deal with the lower-level spawn she’d sent to case the manor house.

Emma had felt a shock of disappointment when he left. She tried to ignore it.

It went on like that for a bit. Dinners. A movie. A really fun night at his brother’s bar. Killian had been on duty and she’d sat close and watched him show off, mixing multiple cocktails at once, tossing bottles, flirting with everyone.

Things always ended chastely when he had to leave to deal with a very vague problem. “Family emergency,” was his favorite excuse. It wasn’t even a lie, really, Emma marveled.

A few times she’d had to take care of a demon or warlock that got too close to him for comfort. She told herself it was demonic pride, her being territorial over her target. As if she’d ever felt anything like pride when it came to her work.

The first time they kissed was the same night they first had sex.

It had been...a lot. Too much.

She had wondered, if he kissed everyone this way, and if so, how he could survive it. He kissed her with no abandon, tilting up into her mouth. She could feel him pouring all of himself into her, handing it all over. And worst of all she could feel herself answering in kind; all that she was for all that he gave.

She couldn’t tell which one of them was leading and which was following, hopelessly. She couldn’t tell who the hell she was, what she was doing.

Too much. A little too raw, too naked, too dirty, too intimate. It had been very humanly imperfect, and very unnaturally good.

They shook, afterwards, clutching each other, and through the haze of her afterglow Emma had felt the dull, creeping, choking fear. That it would end. That he would end.

That was it, really. What she felt whenever another demon got too close.

It was what she felt when the Source sent Cruella.

“Together again, eh, partner?” the Demon of Rage had purred. “The Charmed ones won’t know what hit them.”

Emma’s jaw had tightened and she’d said nothing as she listened to Cruella explain the Source’s plan.

The plan had been to incite a feud between the brothers, forcing them to use their magic against each other which would sever their magical bond and strip them of their powers. Then Emma could pick them off when they were vulnerable.

The first part worked, if only temporarily. Emma didn’t follow through on the second.

And now she was sleeping in her father’s grave with the evil masses bearing down on her. She wasn’t even able to use her shimmer to teleport too much since she’d discovered they could track her with it. But it didn’t matter. That wasn’t what scared her.

She’d felt it rising up in that bodega. The horrible possibility that he was gone. Struck from the earth.

 _He’s fine_. She’d seen it with her own damn eyes that he was fine. It had been worth all the embarrassment, all the guilt of facing him again.

But the fear didn’t abate as she yanked off her boots and crawled into the tent she’d set up in the corner of the mausoleum. Killian lived, but she knew a lot about the Source’s repertoire, and when she laid down and closed her eyes she couldn’t stop herself from picturing the thousands of ways he could die.

…

Killian decided to pretend it hadn’t happened. It was easy. He’d been steadfastly pretending Emma was dead since that fateful night several months ago, had told Liam and Belle so. There was no reason to drop the act now.

He could have easily dreamt it. Though when he did dream of Emma it was never quite as odd or uncomfortable.

Sometimes he’d dream of the last time they’d seen each other. Sometimes he’d imagine her crueler, cartoonish, laughing at him for failing to see her true nature. Sometimes he’d go with her when she shimmered away, sometimes he’d ask her to stay and she did.  Sometimes she really did die at her masters’s hands, shocked and alone when he couldn’t reach her in time to stop it.

Those might be the worst.

Sometimes he’d dream of her in his bed, rolling her eyes at some terrible joke of his, making him laugh with her own barbed pillow talk. Her nails biting into his shoulders as he thrust into her, she spoke his name in a low, urgent, whisper. Eyes bright with something like wonder, full with something like -

“ _Killian._ ”

He blinked to find Belle giving him an irritated look as she stirred the eggs she was making for them. This had become a routine for them, having a late breakfast while Liam went to check on the bar. That is, if there was no supernatural situation that required their attention.

Killian shook off his thoughts and tried to dazzle his sister-in-law with a smile. “I apologize, love. What do you need?”

“Would you get the door please?” Belle repeated, her expression half fond, half annoyed. Proof that his smile had done the trick even with his scattered thoughts.

He noticed finally, the hesitant rap at the door, repeated from a few minutes before, though he’d been too lost to absorb the sound at the time.

 _Probably Liam_ , he thought. _Can literally be in two places at once, but can’t remember his bloody keys when he leaves the house._

His grin died when he opened the door.

It was Emma. Life-size, flesh and blood, full technicolor Emma - though she was still all clad in black. For a moment Killian was struck mute.

And then he found his anger again. “What are you doing here?”

She watched him, wary. “I thought about it...and, I want to help.”

Killian closed the door in her face.

Through the stained glass, he could see that her shadowed form wasn’t moving

“Killian,” Belle called, “who -”

He stepped out to the porch and closed the door behind him, hoping Belle would just leave him to deal with this without ever discovering what he was dealing with.

No such luck.

He’d barely fixed Emma with an accusatory look before the door swung open again to reveal his sister-in-law, wide-eyed.

“Emma?”

“Belle,” she answered, looking tired.

“You -” Belle struggled, “You’re supposed to be dead!”

“Good morning to you too.”

Belle balked at her.

“Look,” Emma said, shifting her gaze back to Killian. “Last night I heard you were dead. I’m glad you’re not, but I really think I could contribute to you staying not dead.”

“Goody for you,” he growled. “I’ve been just fine without you so far.”

“So far you haven’t been hit with the worst the Source can throw at you.”

He gave her a cold smile. “I thought that was _you_.”

She didn’t flinch. Her gaze was as steady as ever, as inscrutable. He remembered suddenly, the look she given him when they’d first met. He and Liam had been questioning her on one of her clients and naturally he’d thrown some sort of mindless, teasing comment at her. Her green eyes were just as harsh and unreadable as they were now - then she’d thrilled him like a gathering storm. She’d looked at him, and he’d been filled with a joyful recklessness.

He ignored the sharp pain of the memory, fought not to look away.

“You’re not wrong,” she said quietly, “but that just means I have a shot at matching whatever he throws at you.”

Her tone should have been as neutral as her expression, but Killian could hear something disturbingly like concern laced into her voice. It made him snarl. “What are you proposing? That you be my bodyguard? Love, I’d have to bloody trust you -”

“And you don’t. Got it,” she muttered.

“- in order for that to work. But even if I did, isn’t all of Hell out looking for you? Wouldn’t we just be inviting them to attack us even more than usual?”

“This is the last place they’d expect me to be,” she said, her voice quiet and imploring. “No fugitive demon’s going to hang around the scene of the fuck up that made them a fugitive in the first place.”

There was a rustling of leaves that warned her enough to duck as the potted plant that normally sat by the porch steps came flying at her head. The pot shattered as it hit the wall next to the door. Killian raised his hands to shield himself from the spray of dirt.

When he looked up again, another pot was flying towards her. He was moving before he could process it, time slowing as he stepped beside her, power rushing up to gather at his fingertips as his focus narrowed and _pushed_.

The pot froze in mid air, dirt and roots tipping over the clay rim.

Liam stopped just in front of the porch, a third plant hovering in the air beside his head. He glared at Emma for a few moments before turning to Killian - who felt his stomach sink. His brother’s expression was at peak disapproval.

“Why isn’t she dead?” Liam asked.

“Hi, Liam,” Emma said, lightly.

Liam ignored her, but to Killian’s surprise he lowered the plant-missle. “We don’t have time for this,” he said. “We have a situation.”

“What is it?” Killian asked.

Liam shot a pointed look at Emma as he joined them on the porch. Behind them Belle stepped out to bear hug the potted plant still trapped in mid-air in anticipation of its un-freezing.

“Leave it, love,” Liam murmured, stepping past Emma to take his wife’s hand and lead her into the house.

After an expectant look from his brother, Killian followed, leaving Emma alone with the suspended plant. She stepped away just in time for it to be released, clay shards and a cloud of dirt splattering onto the porch.

…

Young witch in trouble. Petty thieves hoping to exploit her power for their own gain. Distress call picked up by ouija which Killian had forgotten to take home the last time he’d brought it to the bar.

Business as usual. Just a normal day. Liam even tutted at him a bit about leaving the ouija at the bar despite the fact that they wouldn’t have caught the girl’s message if he hadn’t. However, Killian could sense that his brother was trying to be kind by giving him the lesser of two scoldings.

Liam filled them in on the details while Killian performed the scrying spell, letting the crystal swing over their worn paper map of the city until it landed, with harsh tap, on the auto shop. He’d been ready to ward Emma off before they left but she was gone when they stepped out onto the porch. It was uncomfortably quiet in the car as they drove to the girl’s location. Belle kept shooting him concerned looks over her shoulder.

“Maybe I should have stayed behind?” she suggested. “In case she came back?”

“She won’t,” Liam said. “If she has any sense.”

Belle looked thoughtful. “She didn’t seem like she was there to hurt us.”

“When we met, she didn’t seem like she was there to hurt us,” Killian said. “That’s sort of her specialty.”

“You think she would try the same trick twice?” Belle asked.

Killian didn’t answer. The real question was if he was stupid enough to fall for the same trick twice. He tried not to think about the stab of...whatever he’d felt when he realized she’d left. It definitely wasn’t disappointment.

They parked uphill from the auto shop. It seemed to be closed, the garage doors closed, dust accumulating on the windows. The midday summer sun bounced harshly off the white of the sign, the red lettering that spelled out _Eddy’s Auto_ peeling away. An old van parked in the lot was the only sign that anyone was home.

Belle elected to be the distraction, faking a flat tire. This was usually her role as being both naturally and super-naturally angelic lent her an air of innocence. She would draw kidnappers attention while Killian and Liam ducked in through the back to find the girl.

It all went fairly smoothly. Liam broke the lock on the back door with no fuss, and there was no one in the musty stockroom except a very frightened little girl, gagged and tied to a chair.

“Lucy?” Killian asked her.

She nodded vigorously, her red-rimmed eyes wide.

He smiled and spoke gently to put her at ease. “We got your message, lass. We’re the rescue team.” He showed her his pocket knife. “I’m going to cut you out now, alright?”

She nodded again. Liam walked to the door that led out to the front room where they could hear Belle chirping about not knowing what a lug wrench was. Killian sawed through the strip of fabric that covered the poor girl’s mouth. He managed to hold in the grimace as he removed the second wad of cloth they had stuffed between her teeth. She sputtered and coughed before rasping, “Hurry, the other one went out but he’d said he’d be back.”

Killian dutifully started working on the zip-ties that bound her to the arms of the chair while Lucy continued to chatter in a frantic whisper. Apparently they’d been threatening to hurt her parents if she didn’t help them break into a bank.

“And how on earth were you supposed to do that?” Killian murmured. He managed to free her right hand and started on her left.

“I can make things that run on electricity go weird. If I concentrate enough, I can make them turn off.”

Killian let out a low whistle. “Impressive. You must be powerful.

That won him a shaky smile. She was a tough lass.

A swoop in his stomach, and the hair at the back of his neck rising were his only warning before the vision bloomed in his mind.

_The back door slamming open, followed by another bang, this one the blast of a gunshot, a bullet tearing through his shoulder._

Killian blinked away the premonition. Lucy stared at him, probably at the pained expression he got whenever he was hit with a vision. He pressed a finger to his lips and strained his ears.

There. A muttered curse from the back door.

“ _Liam!_ ” he shouted before tackling Lucy to the floor, chair and all. The door flung open, the shot rang out. Killian heard shouts from the front room. He chanced poking his head up to see Liam sending the shooter crashing into the wall, before turning and running into the front office.

Killian looked back at the shooter where he’d collapsed. Unconscious.

He turned back to Lucy and pressed the knife into her free hand. “Stay down,” he told her. I’ll be right back.”

He threw open the door to the front office to find Liam and Belle standing over the body of a second kidnapper.

“The other one ran out,” Belle said.

“Stay with the girl,” Killian told her before following his brother out the door.

The rush was unnecessary.

Just as the third man was reaching the end of the lot, a figure stepped around the open gate.

Killian heard the man yell, something that could have been _get the fuck out of my way_ , when the lightning hit. The man snapped to a halt, spine stiffening, head thrown back. He shuddered for a moment and then crumpled.

Emma stood over him, looking sheepish as they approached, her hand still outstretched. Killian could swear her fingers smoked.

“Did I read that right?” she asked. “He’s the bad guy, isn’t he?”

…

She stuck around even after the police arrived, though she kept her distance. Killian supposed this was to avoid running into anyone who might recognize her from her days working in the DA’s office.

He could see her sulking around the same spot she’d jumped out of to taze their kidnapper. He took a minute to extricate himself from Lucy’s very relieved parents - a nice young couple who cooed to her in a mix of English and Spanish in between effusive expressions of thanks directed at Killian, Belle, and Liam - and snuck away to join her.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked as he sidled up next to her, not meeting her gaze.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “Thought I’d live tweet the arrest.”

That made him look at her, frowning.

She gave him a helpless shrug. “Sorry,” she waffled, “I don’t know what to…”

He had a sudden flash of her at the DA’s office on the day they’d met, hair bright where it fell over her red blazer. Their prying into one of her cases had somehow branched off into Liam’s harping on him about trying a new fat-free, frozen yogurt monstrosity they sold at the place around the corner from the bar.

“I just want you to put something new in your mouth,” Liam had been saying, when Killian heard a muttered, “That’s what she said,” from the poker faced defense attorney.

It was the joke that made him smile now. Not her.

He scratched his ear as he pursed his lips, schooling his features back into something more composed. “We didn’t need your interference back there,” he said.

She nodded, face shuttering, “I know.”

“But thank you.”

Her eyes shot back up to pierce him, wide with surprise. Killian cursed inwardly at the sudden fierce urge to touch her in some soft way, her face, her hand. She wasn’t his to comfort. She wasn't one to need comfort.

He stepped closer, telling himself it was to intimidate her, even as her chin tilted up to meet his challenge, keep his gaze. Even as the scent of her washed over him, reminding him of an endless night in her moonlit apartment, the striped shadows of the blinds across her skin, the rasp of her voice, the way she kissed him - as if she were taking him into her soul.

Somehow he managed to ask, “What were you doing at the house today Emma?”

Her jaw tightened, and he could _see_ her steel herself, as open and as clear to him as she was that night in her apartment weeks ago.

“I was worried about you,” she admitted, her voice low and thick.

“I can take care of myself,” he told her.

Her eyes squeezed shut. “I _know_ ,” she said, before opening her eyes to look at him again. “But I still need _you_ to know that I’m here. And I can help.” She was full of that familiar furious intensity. He still found it beautiful. “Even you don’t need me, even if you don’t trust me, I’m here. You can use me.”

He dipped his head, helpless against the wave of want that rolled over him - _you know better than to want to trust her, you bloody fool._

“Alright,” he said. “You’re here.”

…

Emma stared at her own hand on the knocker of the manor house. She’d knocked. It was too late to change her mind and make a break for it. She definitely wasn’t going to ding-dong ditch her ex-boyfriend. She was an adult.

But maybe she could just leave him a note?

She patted the pockets of her jeans with more force than necessary, as if she could manifest a pen and a post-it pad through sheer will. It was hotter than the last time she’d darkened Killian’s doorstep, so she’d come with nothing but the black tank on her back.

Not that she ever carried a purse, anyway. What was the point when she could teleport whenever she needed something?

Or used to teleport. She didn’t have the same freedom of movement as a fugitive, when the demons chasing her for a bounty could sniff out her shimmer if she wasn’t careful.

So she was stuck, tethered to the aggressively cheerful welcome mat (was the exclamation point really necessary?), sticky with sweat, torturing herself with the memory of Killian’s face as he’d repeated, _You’re here_.

Good. Fine. That’s all she wanted. For him to know she was an asset. That’s all. She didn’t expect him to trust her. She sure as hell didn’t expect him to forgive her.

Ugh. This was not encouraging her to stay.

But as she turned to leave, she heard the door creek open behind her. She turned to find a confused little brunette craning her head around the cracked open door.

The whitelighter.

“Hey!” Emma said, wincing at her forced cheeriness. She coughed and tried again. “Hi. I, uh, have a case. Maybe. Or it might be nothing, I don’t know. But, you know, I thought I’d just tell you in case it is...something.” She took a breath. “Is that what you call them? Cases?”

The whitelighter was peering at her, consideringly.

Emma shifted nervously. “Um. Is Killian home?” she asked, like a god forsaken teenager.

“He’s at the bar,” said Belle. After another awkward moment of staring, she stepped back and opened the door wider. “You can wait for him, if you like.” With a polite smile she turned and walked back into the house.

Emma blinked. After a moment or two she stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

She found Belle in the kitchen, barefoot, stooped over a merrily boiling pot, humming a random melody as she stirred.

Emma felt her eye twitch at the domesticity of it all.

She’d been surprised when Killian had first introduced Belle, the whitelighter’s heavenly pixie dust splattering onto the sleeve of Emma’s jacket as they shook hands. It hadn’t been hard to piece together that she must be Liam’s ill-advised romantic interest. A guardian angel dating their charge. She couldn’t imagine the whitelighter Elders were happy about it. _About as happy as the Source would be if one of his demons fell for a witch_ , she remembered thinking, bitterly.

Belle glanced up and flashed her that polite smile again. Emma squinted at her, trying to detect any righteous anger, but Belle only waved at one of the stools at the counter. “He shouldn’t be long,” she said. “What’s this about a case?”

Emma climbed onto a stool, feeling too tall, too big, taking up too much space in the bright, cheerful kitchen. Quickly, she told Belle about the women in the cemetery. They hadn’t gone near her father’s tomb, thankfully, but Emma had spotted them when she was coming back from a diner around the block.

The’d all been wearing black, party store, cloaks, but Emma could sense their magic was real.

“It was a summoning spell,” she told Belle. “Definitely a demon summoning spell.”

Belle had stopped stirring and was staring at her with a strange look on her face, her hair curling in the steam.

“Are you living in the cemetery?” she asked.

Emma blinked. “Um, yeah. In my dad’s mausoleum. That’s where I took Killian after…” _After I showed my big, bad, demon face to everybody and everything went to shit._

“Oh,” Belle said. There was an awkward pause. “I didn’t know it was your fathers grave.”

Emma nodded.

“And you’re sleeping there?”

She nodded again, and watched as Belle’s face puckered into a look of concern.

Emma shifted on the stool. “I’m not sleeping on the floor or anything. I’ve got a tent.”

“A _tent?_ ” she balked.

“It’s a good tent,” Emma said, defensively.

“And you’re comfortable?” She squeaked. “Sleeping? In the cemetery? In a tent?”

“Sure I’m comfortable.” Emma frowned at her. “I’m not afraid if that’s what you mean. I’m a demon, Belle. _I’m_ the scary thing in the cemetery.”

“Right,” she said, not sounding convinced. She began to stir the pot again absent-mindedly. “Except now you say these women have summoned another demon?”

Emma relaxed slightly. “Definitely. I didn’t get a look at who it was before they disappeared, but they reeked of demonic energy. I followed the women to one of those retirement communities nearby.”

“You _followed_ them?” Belle repeated.

Emma bristled. “They’d just summoned a _demon_.”

To her surprise, Belle actually looked chagrined. “Right,” she said. She glanced down into the pot and turned off the stove. She turned and opened a cabinet to pull out a strainer.

“Right,” Emma echoed, feeling awkward again. Had she been dismissed? She started to stand “So, that’s it. If you could just let Killian know…”

Belle looked around at her. “You’re going?”

Emma paused, half-way out of the stool. “Uh,” she said.

“I told you,” she said as she set the strainer in the sink and took the pot off of the stove, “Killian shouldn’t be long.”

Emma continued to hover. “Ok. But that’s everything I know, you could just tell him yourself.”

Belle stopped, still brandishing the pot of boiling water, and gave her an assessing look. “Are you avoiding him?” she asked.

“No,” Emma said. “I mean, it’s not like we run into each other often. There’s nothing to avoid.”

“Well,” Belle turned again and drained the pot into the strainer. “I think he’d like to see you.”

Emma blinked. “What?”

“He’d like to hear about this demon business from you, I think,” she said.

Emma stared at her. Was she hallucinating? “He would?”

“Sure,” Belle said, absently. She was frowning down at the strained pasta. “I never know what to do for sauce,” she muttered.

“Aren’t you supposed to be giving me the third degree?” Emma said. “Asking about my intentions or something?”

Belle’s gaze shot up to hers. “What _are_ your intentions?” she asked.

Emma tensed. Alright. Well, there was the righteousness. “I don’t have any,” she said. “Or, I guess, if I could do anything to keep him safe -” she stopped. “I just want to help,” she finished, tiredly.

Belle hummed. “Well. I do think you care about him at least.”

Emma felt a jolt of something, a hot, painful sort of longing. To her horror she felt her eyes sting with tears. She looked down at the countertop, studying the grain of the wood.

After a moment she asked, “You’re making pasta?”

Belle groaned. “It’s always pasta. I can take apart this whole stove and put it back together, no problem. But all I know how to make on it is eggs and pasta. But as great as Liam and Killian are at it, I feel guilty making them cook all the time.”

Emma snorted and stood. “Do you have any tomato paste?”

Forty-five minutes later, Killian walked in to find them laughing over a pot of sauce that was a lost cause.

“What the _hell_ ,” he said.

“Oh, hello, Killian!” was how Belle greeted him.

“Hello,” he said, watching Emma warily as he approached them.

Ignoring the tension, Belle began adding the sauce to the pasta. “Emma says some women from a retirement community have summoned a demon.”

“She does, does she?” Killian said.

“Can we skip the part where you roast me and just get to the investigating?” Emma said. She raised her eyebrows. “You’ll get rid of me faster that way.”

He nodded, yielding. She might have imagined the old playful light in his eyes. “Retirement community?” he asked.

“It’s called the Atrium,” she said.

“You two can go on ahead,” Belle said. “I’ll call Liam and we can meet you there.”

Both Emma and Killian stared at her. But Belle just started searching the cabinets for a container for her terrible pasta, as if she hadn’t just made a ludicrous suggestion.

Killian cleared his throat and gestured to the door. “After you.”

Emma glanced over her shoulder as they left, and found the whitelighter watching them with an inscrutable expression.

…

The car ride was fairly quiet after Emma told him what she’d seen in the cemetery.

When they got to the security gate, Killian made up some story about joining his aunt at a party for her friend.

“And I’m sorry you have to look at my awful photo on that, by the way,” Killian said as he handed over his driver’s license. He flashed the guard a lopsided grin.

Right on cue the guard blinked and laughed, flustered. “I wish my driver’s license photo was good.”

“Come on, don’t lie,” Killian said, his eyes raking the guard up and down. “And I can’t imagine someone like you being unphotogenic.”

The guard laughed again, thoroughly charmed. Emma held in her snort.

“Oh,” Killian said. “And I know this is a bit unorthodox, but I cannot remember the name of my aunt’s friend. If I told you what she looked like, would you be able to tell me?”

Thirty seconds later they were being waived through with their quarry’s address and the guard’s phone number.

“Jeez,” Emma said. “Is that some kind of third power you have?”

“Nope,” Killian leered. “Just the magic of good, old-fashioned, human charm.”

“Yeah,” Emma said. “Don’t I know it.”

She watched as Killian’s smile slowly dropped off his face.

_Shit._

They bookended their drive in another awkward silence.

She beat him to the door, figuring since he’d gotten them through security, she should be the one to pick the lock.

The house was pretty gorgeously decorated for all it’s boring suburban architecture.

“Is that a bloody harpsichord?” Killian said as they walked into the living room.

Emma walked over to the rickety old instrument. The paint was peeling and its white keys were stained yellow.

She plucked a few notes of a Beatles song.

“You play?” Killian asked.

“My dad had a piano,” she said. “I didn’t practice as much as I should have.”

“I’m guessing he didn’t die in a car accident then?” The way she’d told him.

“No,” she said. She reached for the low keys and stumbled through another riff. After a moment Killian recognized it as Barry White. She looked up at him, smirking as she clicked out a drum beat with her tongue.

Killian felt a tug somewhere in his chest. But he just rolled his eyes and turned back to the house. It was full of antiques, well kept ones. Furniture, art.

He walked to the mantle and looked at the photos. There were several faded ones of a young woman with various important-looking people standing next to even more antiques. From the clothes Killian guessed the photos were taken in the 70s. There were also many of the same woman in full Studio 54 regalia, laughing over glasses of wine and champagne with other similarly glamorous people.

“It doesn’t look like she has any pictures of family,” he said.

Emma joined him in front of the mantle piece and hummed in agreement.

Suddenly, they heard a crash from another room.

They ran towards the noise and found a woman staggering in through the kitchen door, her auburn hair mussed, her eyes wild as she looked up to find a pair of strangers in the house.

It was the woman from the pictures. As in, she looked exactly like the woman from the pictures, transported through time.

She clutched her shoulder with one hand and with the other scrambled to grab a knife from the block on the counter. She pointed it at them.

Killian held up his hands and tried to speak soothingly. “It’s alright, we’re here to help. Gayle Hartman is it?” The woman nodded, eyes bouncing between him and Emma.

“It’s alright,” Killian repeated, keeping his voice soft. “I’m a witch. My -” he glanced at Emma, “friend here said she saw you and a few others summoning a demon in the cemetery not far from here last night. By the looks of it, I’m going to guess it was a demon of...beauty? Youth?”

“Vanity,” the woman said.

Emma hummed. “Yeah, that fits the brand better.”

“Sound familiar?” Killian asked her.

“Sure,” Emma said. “His name’s Cryto. But last I heard some witches had stripped him of his body.”

“That’s why we summoned him in the cemetery,” she said.

Emma and Killian shared a grimace.

“So,” Emma said, “You made him a new franken-vessel and he made you young again?”

Killian took a slow step towards her. “Can I see your shoulder?” he asked.

Gayle seemed to deflate, looking defeated. She dropped the hand with the knife to her side. “It’s no use, you can’t fix it.” She took her hand away to reveal, through a tear in her blouse, grey, dry, cracked skin, as if she were made of clay. “He wanted me to keep finding him people to de-age in exchange for their souls. I couldn’t keep doing it, they don’t understand the trade they’re making.”

“And you do?” Killian prompted.

Gayle’s face grew tense. “I got sick. A tumor. And I have money for treatment, but I couldn’t stand the idea of being reduced to being a pathetic invalid in a hospital. I used to live. I used to be beautiful, I mean look at me! I had so many friends, lovers.”

“Did you?” Emma said. “None of those friends wanted to stick around long enough so that you could lean on them now? They weren’t your friends then.”

Killian shot her a glare. Now wasn’t the time to be lecturing her. Emma managed to look chagrined.

He turned back to Gayle and softened his voice. “What about the friends you summoned this demon with, love?”

She let out an unsteady gasp and began to cry. “He killed Rosemary. Turned her to dust. Said it was insurance. It takes three witches to summon him, three to banish him.”

Killian took her hand. “Then you can help us banish him.”

Gayle shook her head and waived at her shoulder. “I got away before he could finish the job, but I won’t last long with this.”

He smiled. “Oh that’s nothing, I know someone in the business of miracles.” He looked up and shouted, “ _Belle!_ ”

Suddenly the kitchen was filled with blinding, otherworldy, dancing lights. They converged to form two figures that turned into Belle and Liam when the lights faded. Emma blinked hard to get rid of the spots in her vision. _Fucking whitelighters_.

Emma and Liam shared a dirty look as a greeting while Belle ran to Gayle. Another bright flash of light and the wound was smooth, human skin again.

Emma took the spot at Gayle’s side as Killian and Liam began to plot. “Hey,” she whispered to her. “I know you were doing what you thought you had to do. But take it from me, even if you’re drop-dead gorgeous, a long life isn’t any less lonely when you have no one to love, or love you.”

Gayle blinked at her through watery eyes, no response.

Emma bit her lip. “Maybe you and your other witch friend could take a painting class? Or maybe, like, a trip to Amsterdam or something? A river cruise?”

Gayle let out a hiccuppy sort of snort. “I haven’t been to Amsterdam in years.”

Emma smiled. “Look, no one says you can’t enjoy yourself just because you’re sick. You definitely seem like you’ve got the money to afford it. And stop trying to get back to the good old days. I doubt they were as good as you remember. What you should be looking for is a friend. Not a bunch of admirers. A _friend_. Someone to care about.” She stopped, realizing she had spoken this last part into a silent kitchen. She looked up to see Liam, Killian, and Belle staring at her.

“Sorry,” Emma said. “Did we come up with a plan already? I missed it.”

“We’re going to need some more information from Ms. Hartman first,” Liam growled. “If you’re finished, that is.”

Emma rolled her eyes and stood. “Yeah, yeah. All yours.”

She wasn’t sure what had made her lecture the woman anyway. Summoning a vanity demon just seemed like an overly complicated solution for a simple problem to her.

Maybe it was the woman’s loneliness that hit close to home. Sleeping in her father’s tomb was dredging up some Emma’s more depressing memories. She found herself missing her parents more. Missing Killian.

 _Not helpful_ , she thought, forcing herself to look at the man in question as he and his brother plotted out how they were going to banish Gayle’s demon.

...

They dispatched the demon Cryto fairly easily with Gayle’s help. She returned to her former physical state once they’d done the deed, but she didn’t seem too distressed by it. Maybe the whole ordeal had given her a new perspective on her situation.

Maybe Emma’s talk had helped.

He glanced over at her, back in the passenger seat of his car. Liam and Belle had orbed back to the house, and he’d offered to drive her back to the cemetery, since it wasn’t far.

She was lost in thought, her brows furrowed, her shoulders tense.

“Is this going to be a regular occurrence?” he found himself blurting.

She jerked up to look at him, surprised. Then she shrugged. “I saw something that I thought you should know about. Do you not want me to tell you next time?”

He sighed. “I _am_ glad you told us.”

She straightened, annoyed. “Look, I told you I want to help -”

“You’re still staying at the mausoleum,” he interrupted. _What are you doing?_

She looked at him confused. “Yeah.”

Killian hesitated a moment before making what was probably a vastly stupid decision.

“Maybe you should stay with us,” he said.

She stared at him. “What.”

He scratched his ear, waffling. “Well, it’s like you said. No one who’s hunting you would think to look at our house.”

“No,” she said. “But. I did try to kill you. And your brother. He probably wouldn’t be crazy about me living under the same roof as him and his new wife. And you.”

Killian exhaled. “No. He wouldn’t.”

They sat in silence for a moment as Killian pulled up to stop in front of the cemetery gates. The sun was setting already. On the other side of the wrought iron, the tombstones seemed to lengthen with the shadows, the whole place darkening, blending into one great pit devoid of light. A vacuum.

He heard Emma shift and turned back to watch her suck in a breath. “Ok. I’m gonna chalk that up to momentary insanity.” She laughed, nervous. “You shouldn’t worry about me, Killian.”

“No, I shouldn’t.”

It came out harsher than he meant it to, and she flinched.

He hated it.

He tried to soften his tone. “You shouldn’t worry about me either.”

She let out another awkward chuckle. “Right. Well. Just take care.” She stepped out of the car. “And I’ll see you whenever, I guess.”

She closed the door and Killian watched as she passed through the gates, the shadows swallowing her.

…

Liam carefully placed his fork down next to his bowl of the lukewarm pasta they were having for dinner. “You _what?_ ” he asked.

“I think Emma should stay with us,” Killian repeated.

“I agree,” Belle said.

“You _do?_ ” Liam squawked.

“Look,” Killian said. “She has no where else, she has no one else.”

“And why should we bloody care, Killian?”

“Because I don’t want her dead!” he said. “I know she lied to me, I know we’d be stupid to trust her, but I don’t want her to die! And if she stays out there, alone, she could be killed.”

“So could _we_ , if she stayed here,” Liam reminded him.

“With the four of us altogether?” Killian asked. “I think you’re underestimating us. And that’s _if_ anyone thinks to look for a demon in a witch’s house.”

“Well I think you’re _over_ estimating us,” his brother said. “And why are we even debating this? She tried. To _kill_ us.”

“Yes,” Belle chimed in. “But she also technically saved our lives.”

Liam’s head whipped around to so he could stare at his wife, gobsmacked. “You believe her?”

“I spent some time with her today and I can’t forgive her for what she did to Killian,” she paused. “And it’s not my place to anyway. But I don’t think she means us any harm.”

Liam shook his head as if to buck off that statement. Then he rounded back on his brother. “When she showed up here alive after you told us you’d killed her, I didn’t say anything, because I’d always had my doubts. Because I knew you cared about her and killing her was a horrible thing to expect from you. So I was glad! But letting her move in?” He let out a disgusted scoff. “Do you still love her?”

“ _No_ ,” Killian snarled. "But I _can't let her die._ "

Liam stared at him, searched him.

“Brother,” Killian spoke low, beseeching. “Please.”

Liam glared. “For _you_ ,” he said. “I’ll do this for _you_. But if she does anything the slightest bit suspicious -”

“ _Liam_ ,” Belle snapped. She and her husband shared a silent look.

Liam sighed. “Well, I’m not happy about it. She can stay, but I’m not happy about it.”

…

Killian stood outside David Nolan’s tomb.

It was grand. White stone pillars rising up to carry the domed roof. Quite a resting place for just one man.

Killian sensed the memory rising up to claim him again. This time he didn’t fight it.

He remembered the demon appearing in the sun room of the manor house. Paper white skin with black markings, black eyes, teeth a row of sharp little points as she snarled, poised to strike with a wicked looking dagger in her hand.

He’d tried to freeze her but she’d only slowed, pushing through the spell.

His brother and Belle had run into the room at the commotion, and Liam had thrown the demon back just as she reached full speed again.

Then the second one had appeared.

Dark red skin, black and white hair, cackling with a horrible high pitched screech. “ _Up, Emmaline. Finish your work._ ”

Liam raised a hand to knock her off of her feet, but the first demon shot back up and lobbed a handful of lightning at him. Liam jerked to the side to avoid the blast.

Killian dove for his own dagger, loaded with curses and enchantments. They’d prepared for her, for the black-eyed, white-skinned terror they’d found in their mother’s Book of Shadows, for the demon they’d been hearing about for weeks from the lesser warlocks and assassins they’d vanquished. _Emmaline will get you. No one survives when the Source sends Emmaline_.

Killian’s hand had just closed around the hilt when the red one’s claws sunk into his shoulders. He was yanked backwards, an arm snaking around his neck to lock him into place. He choked and his vision swam as the white one started for them, low growl building into a savage roar. He fought to keep conscious as he thrust the dagger out.

There was an awful, dull squelch as the blade pierced flesh.

The pressure around his throat loosened and there was a thud and a poof as the red demon disintegrated. Vanquished.

She’d stabbed her.

The white demon let out a soft, strangled, exhale. Killian felt the breath on his face, close as she was. _She smells familiar_ , was the wild thought that entered his mind. Like burned incense.

In her low, otherworldly voice she rasped, “Killian.”

Her hand went down to the dagger that stuck out of her stomach, and Killian could see her skin darkening, her eyes lightening, hair appearing, long and golden.

“No, no, no, no,” Killian whispered.

He watched Emma - _Emma_ \- collapse. And then he was crouched over her. He didn’t remember moving, couldn’t feel the tiled floor of the sun room under his boots, couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t think. _Emma, Emma, Emma_. She was bleeding, an ugly brown stain blooming over her blouse. She wasn’t moving, her head lolled as he tried to drag her up. He could barely sense the blur of Belle at the corner of his gaze, distantly recognized the muffled buzz in his ear as her voice. Everything felt dulled, like a dream. Was this a dream?

He tore the fabric of her blouse around the dagger to look at the wound. It was grotesque. Torn skin and mangled flesh, singed with magic.

The words choked out of him before the thought was fully formed in his head. “C-can you?” He looked at Belle.

Her eyes were huge and despairing. “Oh, Killian,” she whispered, over a roar that sounded like his brother.

“Please - would you - I have to,” his voice was a hollow rasp that grew stronger with his panic, “I have to see her, I have to - you have to - I _have_ to see her.”

He felt her touch his shoulder, gently. “Killian -”

“ _I can’t do anything!”_ The shout ripped out of him. “ _I can’t do anything until you heal her._ ”

She jumped at the change in volume, but she must have read the frenzied determination in his eyes, because, hesitantly, she pulled the dagger away and placed her hand over the wound.

As the glow rose from between her fingers, Emma jerked, eyes snapping open as she hissed. The glow faded and Belle snatched her hand away.

There was a beat as they all looked at the ugly, puckered scar where her wound used to be. And then Emma snaked her arms around him and the house, Belle, and his brother faded away. The tile changed into soft, damp, grass. The house lights faded into moonlight cutting through a fog, bouncing off marble headstones.

It made Emma’s hair look a shade lighter.

Killian snapped back and her arms fell away instantly as he scrambled away from her on the grass.

She raised her hands as if to placate him. Her hair rumpled from the scuffle, her eyes red with exhaustion. “I won’t hurt you,” she rasped.

“You’re Emmaline,” he said. “You were sent to kill us.”

“Yes,” she said.

Killian didn’t know what he was expecting. Shame? Villainous smugness? She just looked her usual impenetrable self, if a little - a lot - worse for wear.

But then she said, “Please,” and Killian caught the tremor in her voice.

“Why should I believe you? You lied to me.”

“I did, but I didn’t lie when...I really do...I _care_ about you Killian, I - ” her voice broke, her eyes were bright. She looked afraid. And it scared Killian because he realized he’d never seen her look so vulnerable before.

“Tell me what happened,” Killian said. “Tell me what the hell this all was. Fucking explain yourself.”

She looked around, frantic, scrambling to her feet. “Come on,” she said, gesturing, and Killian noticed the tomb for the first time, ghostly white in the fog. “I’ll tell you, we just can’t be in the open, come on.”

He followed her - too distracted by shock, and blooming despair to question whether he was being led into a trap - and listened as she relayed the whole sorry tale. How she’d been an assassin for years, rising through the ranks to become the Source’s favorite. How her mission had been different this time, how she was supposed to get close to them, find out how to make them weak, so that she could destroy them when others couldn’t.

Soon they heard faint shouts from outside in the cemetery. Liam. He’d found them.

Emma looked at him. “That’s it, pretty much. I was taking too long and they sent Cruella to keep me on track.”

“Is this on track?” Killian asked.

“No,” she said. “Which means the Source will come at me full force, soon enough.”

“What will you do?” Fuck, but the question was full of fear. He was reeling, but he couldn’t bear the thought of her in danger.

“I’ll run,” she said, simply. Her voice was hollow, her eyes bleak as she looked up at him. “I guess it would be crazy to ask you to come with me, huh?”

He stared at her, the anger and fear and _hurt_ rolling inside of him. “Yes. It would be crazy.”

She nodded, and started to step away. He reached out to stop her with his prosthetic.

“Wait.” He tugged on her blouse, on the torn fabric stained with her blood. “Help me,” he muttered, and she reached to help him rip away the bloody scrap.

He tossed the scrap a few yards away from them and pulled out the vial of the vanquishing potion that he and Liam had taken to carrying around on them at all times. He pulled Emma further away from the scrap of her blouse before tossing the vial. The glass broke, and burst of flame rose up, the magic burning away her blood.

“I’ll tell Liam you’re dead,” he said. “Maybe it’ll get back to the Source, somehow.”

“It won’t work forever,” she said.

He looked down into her pale, grim face. “But it’ll give you a head start.”

She nodded. “You don’t have to help me.”

He kissed her. A last kiss. Full of everything he didn’t have time to express, all the feeling that poured out of him whenever she was near.

He broke it off. “I won’t after this,” he swore, and pushed her away.

Her eyes were shuttered and her cheeks were wet with tears as she looked at him.

“Bye, Killian,” she said, and faded away.

…

He found her wrestling with a mess of fabric that he guessed was supposed to be a tent.

At the sound of his entrance, she whipped around, hand crackling with electricity, poised to strike.

“It’s me,” he said, hands raised.

“Oh,” she said. “Uh. Sorry,” she gestured to the tent. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

Killian looked at the tent. Licked his lips. “Pack your things,” he said.

She blinked. “What?”

He shifted his weight, strangely nervous. “Pack your things,” he repeated, “so I can take you to the house.”

She looked at him, bewildered. Then she raised a brow. “Do I get a say in this?”

He relaxed. “Yes, love, of course you do.” He stopped. The endearment had slipped through. A habit.

Her strickened expression told him she’d noticed.

He cleared his throat, eager to get this part over with. “Well, Swan, what do you say?”

She stared at him for a moment, inscrutable again.

“I say, thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I should not be surprised that this chapter turned out to be such a monster but here we are.
> 
> According to Wikipedia, "In My Life" by the Beatles just has a piano solo that sounds like a harpsichord because of how they messed with the audio track.
> 
> The other song Emma plays is "I'm Gonna Love You Just a Little Bit Longer, Baby" by Barry White, and I just picked it because I was listening to it, but the lyrics turned out to be kinda fitting.
> 
> Chapter 2 up next week!


End file.
